Krillin - The Eternal Punching Bag of the Gods
by Pisces
Summary: Krillin just isn't having a very nice day...


Krillin - The Eternal Punching Bag of the Gods **Disclaimer:** This might surprise you a bit, but... ::leans in, whispering with shifty eyes:: I don't own Dragonball Z. Shocking, no? I know, I know, big disappointment, but we learn to cope with these things. You'll live.

**Author's Notes:** Thing is people, I love Krillin. I really do. I feel so sorry for him, ya know? Oh sure, I went through the Piccolo stage, and I still respect our resident tall, dark, and green Namek, but... ::whines:: Krillin's just so pathetically cute I can't stand it! And because I love him so much, I've decided to _torture_ him! MWAHAHAHA! Pain, anguish, and insanity for all!

Krillin always gets picked on. You know it, I know it, the whole world knows it. If something is going to happen, all the bad stuff likes to pile on top of Krillin. Like, oh, _dying,_ if instance. This is my little take on why all this stuff has to happen to him. A little time twisting was used in the make of this fic - even though Krillin and 18 are already married, Trunks is still a small baby, around the age of the Cell Saga. It's a small thing, but... ::shrug:: I'm way too lazy to fix it. And I'm completely skipping by King Kai, Kami and the like in the God department. If they don't fit my world, then _out_ with them! Go on, shoo!

**Warnings:** None! Ha! Go me, no warnings whatsoever. Well, uh... there's like, two cuss word at the end... Damn...

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**Krillin - The Eternal Punching Bag of the Gods**

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A Dragon Ball Z fan fiction by Pisces

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"_OW!_ What the fudge....?" The particularly nasty non-curse sounded through the otherwise quiet house as Krillin hopped across the kitchen floor rather ungracefully, clutching one foot as he seethed as best as he could without actually using foul language. The little ex-monk glared at the un-naturally heavy milk carton laying in a spilled heap on the floor, all the while trying to rub the feeling back into his smashed toes. He could have sworn that the milk had jumped out at him from the refrigerator; right out of it, _on it's own,_ directly on his foot. It had even _swerved_ to land precisely in the middle of his foot when he had jumped out of the way. Giving the evil container one last freaked looked, Krillin back up slowly, not noticing the chair that miraculously seemed to be placed just right in his path.

Of course Krillin tripped on it. And as he fell, arms flailing about, one hand knocked against the kitchen table, sending the (handily placed) precariously perched butcher knife flying towards him. Being the Zed warrior that he was, the diminutive man had ample time to widen his eyes and mutter a "Oh, drat." But he also had time to realize that, because he was the Zed warrior that he was, he could easily dodge the oncoming cleaver and proceeded to do just that, darting to one side and quickly flipping out of the way. To bad for him the path of his flip took him directly back towards the still-opened fridge. He might have barely missed the fate of himself cut in half, but he ended up with something just as worst; slipping on dropped milk and practically flying head first into the refrigerator.

Krillin was completely calm as he climbed out of his totaled fridge, brushing the pieces of a leftover ham sandwich out of his jet black hair with deliberate carefulness. His face was utterly blank as he surveyed his kitchen, expressions fully under controlled and large eyes half-hooded. Then, without a sound, he walked out of the room, leaving the milk leaking on the floor, chairs and table askew and knife sticking straight out of the floor.

With a sigh, Krillin flopped down upon his couch in the silent living room, reaching over to the side coffee table to retrieve the TV remote. After a few seconds of struggling, he realized something - he couldn't reach the thing. And _then_ he realized he should have realized that little important fact sooner, considering the coffee table was at the opposite end of the couch, a good four feet away. Twisting his lips up in a dissatisfied grimace, he proceeded to crawl across the sofa, getting a spring in his knee for the trouble. The remote was swept up angrily and excessive force was used to stab the power button. The TV flared to life, made a strange popping noise, then exploded. Quite impressively.

Krillin stared, mouth agape, at the sizzling, smoking remains of his picture box. Even as he watched, a small fire started up and began to gradually eat away at the wooded parts. The miniature warrior blinked, then turned his dark gaze with deceptive sluggishness to the remote still in his hand, slowly but surely being crushed to an untimely death by his small fingers. Harrumphing quietly, Krillin forced himself to loosen his grip. The device's casing creaked distressingly as the pressure let up, but it was still in it's basic shape and in workable order. _Not like it will be of much use,_ Krillin thought, and ruthlessly squelched the slightly unbalanced giggle that threatened to bubble up out of his throat.

He set the remote on the cushion beside him. The couch collapsed.

Haphazard debris settled about his tense form, a fine layer of dust bunnies/smoke combination covering his face and hair. He sighed once more as things finally established themselves and all was quiet again. An ominous groan was his only warning, and he tilted his head back just in time to watch the ceiling cave in on top of him.

With a strangled cry, Krillin flung himself out of the pile of wreckage and practically flew to the front door, only pausing long enough to rip the door open and rush out of the house.

Once outside, door firmly closed and pressed against his back, Krillin's ragged breathing and pounding heart slowed to a more acceptable rate. Closing his eyes to the cloudless, blue sky, Krillin lend his head back, plaster covered strands of hair shifting away from his face as he sunned himself into a more controlled state. Peace descended upon his being, and he unconsciously slide down the door into a sitting position, arms wrapping around his bent knees.

Two thoughts hit him at once, their force striking him with enough strength to snap the ex-monk's eyes open wide. The first was, _It's too quiet._ Cliché all the way, but proved to be totally true as the clear heavens burst open with clouds from nowhere, drenching him instantly with a hard, hammering rain. The second thought was strange, random, and brought a clenching chill to his heart.

_I don't even_ own _a butcher knife!_

* * * * *

One hour later found Krillin trudging his way down the road, with a completely rational conviction that if he returned to his house, he would be killed on the spot. After the freak storm that had left him soaked had started up, Krillin had made a speedy getaway from the home he shared with his wife. The downpour had followed him the whole time and had just recently let up, leaving in it's wake a vengeful sun, Hell bent on drying him out with extreme prejudice. He glared up at the shinning orb beating down on his back, then shook his head sharply, sending wet tendrils of pure black hair swinging about his face.

The tree branch that he slammed his face into surprised him, and rightfully so. It was not often there was something low enough that he actually had to duck to get around it; in fact, he couldn't remember a single incident in his adult life he had ever had to. He stared up at the unexpectedly low and unexpectedly thick branch, and wondered why a tree limb that rather rudely extended halfway across the road hadn't been cut down by now.

Krillin was halfway through the process of picking himself off the road when a large hand grabbed his shoulder, startling him so badly he fell back again, banging his head against the asphalt with a yelp. Goku laughed and easily lifted his little friend to his feet, keeping a steadying hand on Krillin's arm just in case. "Hiya Krillin! How ya doing?"

"Oh, Goku. It's just you..." Krillin voice trembled as he spoke, eyes darting about to make sure no else was going to creep up on him unexpectedly. Something was wrong with this situation, but he just couldn't figure out what it was... _"GOKU?!"_ Krillin screeched, tenor rising up to a pitch that was usually unobtainable in normal circumstances. "You're _DEAD!"_

Goku's brow furrowed. "I don't know what you're talking about, Krillin. I'm right here."

"I _know_ you're right here. I can _see_ you're right here! But you're _dead,_ so you _shouldn't_ be right here."

"Krillin..." Goku actually looked wounded and Krillin felt momentary concern over hurting his best friend. His _dead_ best friend, he reminded himself sharply, and there was no need to worry about insulting dead people.

"No Goku," the much smaller man said with as much conviction he could muster. "You're dead. I know for a fact you're dead. Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead, _dead._ Gone, deceased, pushing up the daisies. And sane people don't talk to dead people in the middle of a deserted road. That's just not how it works. So, I'm sorry to tell you this, but I'm just going to have to leave. Goodbye Goku, who shouldn't really be here in the first place because you are, in fact, dead." He pulled out of Goku's loose grasp and made sure he didn't look up at the saiyan's pouting face as he marched on down the street.

Goku was silent during Krillin's little speech, but spoke up once the human's was purposely striding away. "Uh, Krillin? Why aren't you flying?"

Krillin stilled, growled, then launched himself in the air, all the while trying to look like that was exactly what he had been planning on doing all the time.

Goku winced as he flew straight into a tree.

* * * * *

Capsule Corp. dome loomed overhead, and Krillin hesitantly reached out to ring the doorbell. He wasn't quite sure what it was going to do to him, but he had vague notions of electrocution. Or by pressing the button he would release a wild pack of rabid dogs ready to tear him limb from limb. By now, he was tense, wired, and ready for anything.

Amazingly, the door was answered in less than the customary five minutes and even more surprisingly by Bulma herself. Krillin struggled to make himself presentable; well, as presentable as one could in his present state. It was hard to look anything but shabby with tattered clothes, disheveled hair, face covered in multiply bruises and tiny scratches, a exceedingly noticeable limp, and a large amount of blood staining his pant leg from being attacked by a insane, foaming ally cat. Krillin smiled nervously. Bulma stared dispassionately, raising a pale eyebrow. But then she sighed, shifted Trunks to her other hip, and said, "Well, come on in. No reason for you to stand there all day."

Krillin didn't budge. "You wouldn't happen to have any... chairs in there, would you?"

Bulma's temper flared up at his seemingly display of stupidity. "Of _course_ we have chairs! You've been..." She trailed off, noticing a suspicious convulsive eye twitch in the man before her.

"If you have chairs, I can't take the risk. I'll just stay out here." Without even saying goodbye, he wandered off along the wall of Capsule Corp., muttering to himself too lowly for Bulma to make out any words.

Bulma followed behind him cautiously, hugging Trunks close to her body for comfort, and stopped when Krillin came to a halt at a part of the wall that was just like all the other parts of the wall. She was close enough to see him stare up at this nondescript wall with a wild eye and mutter a, "Oh, drat," before the wall crumbled on top of him for absolutely no reason at all. Bulma stared, stunned, as his slight form was enveloped in the concrete pieces. Trunks gurgled happily and slobbered on his mother's silk blouse.

Before the blue-haired woman had time to react, Krillin crawled out of the ruins and plopped himself down on the grass, radiating an air of wary casualness. Bulma approached the man against her better judgment. "Ah, Krillin? You, uh.... okay?"

Krillin turned to look up at her in one spastic movement, smile blindingly bright and eyes just a _little_ too wide. "I'm totally fine, Bulma. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, uh..."

"It's not like anything _unusual_ has been going on."

"I can, er, see that."

"You can?" Twitch, twitch. "You don't think a wall falling on me is unusual?"

"Well, that is to say..."

"You right. Happens all the time, doesn't it?"

"I mean..."

"Happens all the fucking time."

Bulma gave up. "It does?" she asked, helplessly.

"Yep. _All_ the time."

"That's... nice?"

_"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!"_

Bulma gasped and stepped back as a nearby lamppost fell over and smashed Krillin in the head.

* * * * *

Up in the Heavens, where all was good, all was nice, all was shinny, and all was under warrantee, three Almighty Gods watched this particular drama unfold with special interest. They were basically cracking up in a very unGodly like manner.

**Oh, _man_**, one God spoke in a voice beyond human capability to understand, **Did you see the look he was giving that woman?**

**That was _great_**, spoke another of these highly evolved, mature creatures in a voice as deep as time itself. **I loved the milk jug part. Though the wild cat certainly was up there on the list.** The God gasp for breath as it dissolved once more in a fit of laughter.

The last bestowed upon it's companions it's own wisdom. **No, no, no! The Goku part was _definitely_ the best. His death speech was just _hilarious!_**

But the first God had it's own holy judgment. **The lamppost. The lamppost was the greatest touch!**

The three Gods clung to each other's divine robs spun of the purest light, weak with mirth, and went back to torturing their favorite punching bag.


End file.
